On Jedi and Alcohol
by Elemarth
Summary: Five young padawans leave the Temple to spend a night in the city...
1. Chapter 1

Author's notes:

One problem about writing in the Star Wars universe is that there are so many authors in the canon that there are things that nobody agrees on. Because I couldn't find reliable information about initiates and padawans and less about Coruscant, I made most of it up myself. In my stories:

(A) Initiates are younglings and padawans are teenagers taken by a master. Padawans are taken at eleven or twelve.

(B) Coruscant has about ten levels.

(C) They have a holiday for each new year and it's really crazy. (This is Coruscant. Everything's crazy.)

Disclaimer: All characters mentioned except for Council members are entirely made up by Elemarth and should not be considered canon characters. (Oh, how I wish.)

Disclaimer: I have never been drunk and know very little about alcoholic drinks in Star Wars or on Earth.

A thousand thanks to **Xrai** and my friend "Minas Ithil," who both beta-ed this story for me.

**Pronunciation of Names:**

Akite Chairu - Ah-_kee_-tay. "Chai" rhymes with "sky" and "ru" rhymes with "new".

Dorn Feno - Dorn _Feh-_noh

Jiimo - _Jee_-moh

Zefel - _Zeh-_fehl

One last comment: the last few paragraphs of this refers to my story, _Survivor's Guilt._ If you haven't read it - ahem, do - but it's okay for this story.

And now, let the story begin at last!

* * *

**On Jedi and Alcohol**

"Hey, Kee!"

I knew who it was without looking. Not because I recognized the voice, or because I recognized him through the Force, but because only my friend Dorn called me "Kee."

He always had. I have no idea why – well, I guess it's just because he's Dorn Feno and that's the sort of thing he does. Maybe "Akite" is too long for him.

"Come on, Kee," Dorn said eagerly. I could tell that one of those typical Dorn-like ideas was coming up soon as he led me to an empty room where we could talk in private. I was surprised that the Masters weren't smart enough to be, by now, able to recognize when he was forming a plan and stop him – but, then again, not even Master Yoda is omniscient.

A young Rodian boy, a black-haired Human girl, and a gold-skinned humanoid boy were sitting, cross-legged, in a semi-circle, looking very serious – or trying to. They were, in order, Jiimo, Zefel, and Fang.

I had known these people so long that I could read their expressions, despite the fact that I'm a Zabrak, so they were all from different species than me. They all knew what was going on, which meant that they considered me the hardest to convince to follow Dorn's crazy plans and therefore was the last to be told. Again. I sat down and braced myself for Dorn's new scheme.

Dorn, a black-haired Human, was an enigma in several ways. For one thing, he wasn't especially good at the Force. Or very athletic. Or a good pilot. Or, much as I hate to say it, terribly intelligent. So what was he going to _do_ as a Jedi? In fact, he was slightly overweight, which is another mystery. (Or, as he would say if I told him this, undertall. He _was_ kind of short.) Considering the exercise we got at the Temple, he would have to eat an unimaginable amount to be overweight, and we don't get any more food than we need, so he must have had the most sluggish metabolism of any Human in the galaxy.

Another thing I never figured out was whether he was our friend and leader or an annoyance hanging on for the ride. Well, he was Jiimo's friend, certainly. Jiimo was the first to hear any of his ideas and the mastermind (curse him) who turned them into a plan.

Jiimo, more than any of us, enjoyed Dorn's schemes. He likes the thrill, unlike Zefel, Fang, and I. _We_ only liked Dorn's ideas after we are safe and can laugh over how crazy we had been.

"So, Kee," Dorn began. "We're almost twelve. Fang _is_ twelve."

"I'm eleven and a half," I pointed out. "And Jiimo is hardly older."

"It doesn't matter," Jiimo informed me. "This is about being a padawan, and we'll be eligible with the rest of our class even if we are a few months young.

"That remains to be seen." I figured I had to resist as much as possible, since I had a feeling this plan would get us into trouble.

"We _are_ all going to be chosen as padawans within the next year. Or, if you insist, we _probably _will." Dorn rolled his eyes. "Basically, all the time we have left together is the amount of time it takes for Master Yoda to allow Master Whoever to take Fang as his padawan, and that may be a very short amount of time."

"It's Master Sual," said Fang quietly.

"Whatever," Dorn said dismissively.

It took someone like Dorn to wave off Fang's words. Fang treated them like money, something to be spent cautiously, a good quality for a Jedi and the exact opposite of Dorn, and when Fang spoke, his voice had a powerful, regal quality that was hard to ignore.

I think Fang was born into royalty, or at least had been royal in a past life. He had the air of a prince. He was tall enough to be able to look down on the rest of us, and usually wore a serious expression. He wasn't very strong with the Force, but he was dedicated, and everyone knew that one of the Jedi Healers, Master Sual, had his eye on Fang but hadn't yet gained the Council's permission. I can see Fang being a good healer. He's easy to trust.

I should add that we're not sure if Fang is Human or not. His hair and eyes are the same golden color as his skin, which is something I have never seen in any other Humans. Whatever place he came from didn't speak Basic: his name is Aaffeng Taolong. We, of course, couldn't pronounce that when we were little, so we shortened it to Feng, then, naturally, Fang.

"Since this is our last few months together, we thought we should get a chance to have some fun," Dorn continued. "Unfortunately, the Masters don't agree."

_Well, obviously. Dorn's version of "fun" isn't theirs._ Provided the Masters even knew what "fun" means.

"...So I wanted to get out into the city for a night."

"Dorn!" I narrowly avoided shouting, which might have made someone realize that we weren't talking about classwork. "That could get us expelled."

"That's what I said," Zefel told me. "But have you ever heard of an initiate getting expelled? Even padawans have to do something unforgivably illegal first."

"You're right," I admitted. "It's the only reason Dorn is still here."

Dorn didn't react. He never reacted to insults.

"You see, whenever we actually get out of the Temple, it's with a big group watched over by masters who won't let any of us out of sight for a second," Dorn explained. "Even the money we are given is watched over. And it's _boring_."

"Sheiro says that lots of padawans and initiates go out on New Year's Eve, so it's not like it's that uncommon," Jiimo told me. Sheiro was his older brother, who had then been a padawan for five years.

"We are _not_ going out on New Year's Eve," I stated. I had been told enough, and heard enough conversations, to know how insane Coruscant got on that night.

"No," Jiimo assured me. "Though Dorn wanted to. It's unsafe, and Sheiro says that you're twice as likely to be caught that night because there are so many Jedi out trying to keep the peace. However, if we did go out in a week, it would be two weeks before New Year's still, so things wouldn't be so crazy and there wouldn't be so many Jedi out."

I glanced from one face to another. They were all in agreement.

"Fang, you're smarter than this," I said accusingly. But the thing was, for all his regalness, Fang was kind of a pushover. "Zefel …?"

"Akite," my friend said, "I think there's something you've missed in Dorn's ideas. Even though a bantha could come up with better ones… they're _fun_."

I thought about that. The four of them watched me expectantly. "We are going to be murdered by the masters," I stated.

"Not if we get back before they wake up!" Jiimo grinned.

"We'll meet in a week. I hope you've saved some of the money they give us when they let us out of here," Dorn said. We get a small amount of money when they take us out of the Temple, but we rarely spend anything.

"When we get caught, remember that I never said, 'yes,'" I told them.

"I think you just did," was Fang's response.

* * *

"So let's see how much money we've got between us," ordered Dorn a week later.

We all dug into our pockets and came out with several Republican credits – leftovers from what the teachers gave us on the days when we left the Temple, money we had made from bets, or spare change we had found on the floor. Dorn came out with a handful of change, then another, then a third. He had as much as the rest of us put together.

We stared at him. "Who did you rob?" I asked. "No, don't tell us, so we can honestly say that we didn't know when they ask us."

Dorn, as usual, ignored me, and he started counting the money. "We're sharing this equally," he explained. "Only fair. How much is an air taxi?"

Jiimo told him, and Dorn counted out double the amount and set it aside.

"We have enough money, I think," Dorn announced. He scooped up the credits and made a move as if to put it into his pockets.

"No!" Zefel, Jiimo, and I cried. Dorn looked surprised. Fang made a motion for us to be quieter. Zefel whispered, "We need someone to carry it that we can trust to not waste it all on himself."

"Fine." Dorn pushed it towards Fang, who would probably be too nice to use any of it for himself, let alone waste it all.

"Um…" Jiimo began. "Not to be mean or anything, but Fang would probably give it all to Dorn if he asks, and I don't want that."

So they all turned to look at me.

_Oh, yeah. Trust Akite. That's what I am to them: the reliable one._

I pocketed the money and asked, "So how are we going to get out of – and back into – here without being seen?"


	2. Chapter 2

I was honestly surprised that Sheiro's "safe" route out of the Temple actually worked. We didn't meet anyone. I was starting to wonder how often Sheiro had done this.

The only problem was that the door was locked. Sheiro had told us how to get past that, but it took too long and I didn't want to bother. Instead, I looked at it through the Force to find where it would most easily break, the place that Master Windu calls its "shatterpoint," and hit it there with my lightsaber hilt. Why not? We weren't exactly following the rules here; why not break something?

"Yeah, we know you're going to be the next Mace Windu, but stop showing off, will you?" Jiimo asked.

I kept my mouth shut. Jiimo liked my gift with shatterpoints, but that didn't stop him from being jealous that I was one of the rare ones who got to share a gift with Master Windu himself. I would have been jealous, too.

We had only ever been to the uppermost level of Coruscant, and only in the part that was between the Senate and the Jedi Temple. So, we planned to go in the opposite direction.

We found an air taxi as soon as we were away from the Temple. By some grace of the Force, the pilot was a Neimodian who reacted only to the money, not to the fact that he was given it by an eleven-year-old Zabrak. We headed to a mid-level residential area, away from where the Jedi would most likely be wandering but close enough to the Temple to be able to get there quickly just in case.

"Remember," I whispered as we left the air taxi. "Nobody can know we're Jedi."

They nodded. Even Dorn understood that and had hidden his lightsaber where it couldn't be seen.

We entered the crowd of adults and teenagers, but pretty soon, Zefel tugged on my hand, her blue eyes looking panicked.

Though the Masters say I'm stronger in the Force than my other friends, I think Zefel was more sensitive to it. She often feels other people's emotions, which is probably why she is so sweet to everyone, and all the emotions in crowds can overwhelm her. I think she is the one who should be the healer, not Fang, but that wasn't what she wanted.

I grabbed Jiimo's arm and called, "Let's sit down for a minute."

We found a bench off the road. Since there wasn't enough room for all four of us, Fang stood, leaning against the building.

Coruscant is the planet that never sleeps. _Who would have believed that so many people are up at this hour?_ I wondered. We actually weren't the youngest. I saw a Rodian who must have been seven or eight, though, of course, she was with adults.

"Hey." A Human boy, fifteen or so, stopped in front of us. He was quickly joined by two other Human boys who looked a couple of years older. He looked nice enough, dark-haired and probably handsome, not that a Zabrak is much of a judge of Humans. He was grinning at Zefel.

I forgot to mention that Zefel looked two or three years older than she was at that age, well on the way to being a woman, and she is pretty, with thick black hair that was, at the time, shoulder-length.

"What's a beautiful thing like you hanging out with kids for?" he asked.

Zefel blushed. Jiimo and I glowered.

The boy suddenly noticed Fang, who was giving him a _look_. It wasn't quite as powerful as usual, considering that the other boy was as tall as he was, but it was effective.

"Unless she belongs to you?" the boy offered.

"She belongs to nobody."

I don't think the boy recognized the double meaning, or the threat, of Fang's words. "I'm San, this is Dirak and Masthu," he said.

"I'm Zefel," Zefel said quietly. More bravely, she added, "These are my friends, Dorn, Jiimo, Akite, and Afang." She seemed to consider it too intimidating to call him "Fang" and instead braved his real name.

"Aaffeng," Fang corrected her.

The boy offered his hand, "Hey, Zefel, you wanna come with us? Your… friends… can come, too." His pause let us know that it was only Zefel he liked.

"Sure," said Dorn instantly. Zefel looked at me.

"Why not?" I asked. "We haven't got any other plans."

"Sure," Zefel said to San and stood up. I hoped she would be okay with the crowd now that she had been given some time to adjust.

"Does the horn-head make all your decisions?" San asked as we walked along. He must have noticed that Zefel looked to me, a Zabrak, before agreeing.

"Horn-head? What, are you jealous?" I taunted.

He snorted. "No. Why would I be?"

"Because, if a Human head hits a Zabrak one, it's not going to be the Zabrak who gets hurt." He wasn't as nice as he had first appeared, I decided.

"I don't have to worry about that," he replied. "Considering_your_ head is down _there_ and _my_ head is up _here_."

I was busy trying to think of how to return that volley, but Zefel saved me. "Oh, leave it. I didn't come with you to hear you two argue."

We went down a level, which made me nervous. Each level harbors poorer and more dangerous streets than the one above.

One of San's friends, Dirak, I think, explained, "The lower you go, the less likely that people will wonder what teenagers are doing out late."

We went down another level. "Down here, even little horn-heads can get beer if they show money," San told us.

I raised my eyebrows and glanced at each of my friends. Zefel's face was unreadable even as San got closer and closer to her. _I_ would have head-butted him long before this. Jiimo looked nervous. Dorn looked angry that San had taken over. Fang caught me looking at him and gave me a half-shrug: he didn't approve, but he wasn't going to abandon us.

The eight of us sat down in a diner. It was crowded and noisy, but I actually kind of liked the music that was playing. The boys seemed to know everyone there, though, judging by the accents, they were the only people from upper Coruscant. Masthu had a female Human, one of the workers there, nearly in tears from laughing. San greeted several other teenage boys and introduced Zefel to them. Something about the way he treated her – he had his hand on her arm possessively – made me think of how Fang had asserted, "She belongs to nobody."

I tried to find an excuse to call her back over to us. "Hey, Zef, you –"

Dorn interrupted me by jumping up and calling to the rest of us, "Why don't we go someplace else?"

Trust Dorn to be subtle. "You could be more obvious," Fang suggested, but Dorn didn't understand sarcasm any more than he understood insults.

"Sit down, idiot," I said. Dorn understands _that_ – well, the tone, anyway. He sat back down and, thankfully, San and Zefel returned to us.

Then we followed the older boys up to the counter to get something to eat and drink. Masthu said that we had to pay right as we got what we wanted – "Just in case, you know. They don't want anyone buying more than they can pay for, or leaving without paying, right?"

So we bought a few glasses of water and some food, not that we were hungry but because we could buy the unhealthy things that the Masters would never let us touch. San insisted upon paying for Zefel, and was astonished when I was the one who took out money.

"What are you, horn-head, an adult in disguise?"

I ignored him and focused on limiting Dorn's meal to a minimum. I was surprised at how much he thought he could eat. Maybe _that's_ why he's overweight. We finally came to an agreement and I paid.

That was before I realized that Dorn's drink was alcoholic.

I guess he thought that he was losing his leadership and wanted to regain control. But he chose a strange way to do it.

Dirak had left the table. Masthu was distracting his friend from her work. San was talking to Zefel, who was drinking something. Dorn began laughing uncontrollably.

"I don't even _want_ to know, do I?" I muttered. "Okay, Dorn, what is it?"

"Taste it." He pushed his drink to me. I raised my eyebrows. "Come on, Kee." He giggled.

I carefully wiped the rim of the glass with a napkin and tasted it.

I coughed and spat it out. It tasted like liquid fire. I took a big gulp of water before shouting, "What is _that_?!"

Dorn just laughed.

"Mine's good," Zefel told me, her eyes glittering unnaturally. Because I trusted her, I took a sip. It was bearable. But then I put the glass down and suggested, "Maybe we should be getting back now…"

But Jiimo leapt up. "Akite, if we go home now, what did we _come_ for?"

I looked for some support, but Zefel was grinning, her eyes still glittering in a frightening way, and Fang only said, "This _is_ what we came for."

"Big help _you_ are," I muttered.

"Gimme some money," Jiimo demanded.

And, Force help me, I gave some to him.

* * *

Mostly to avoid tasting what was in it, I examined my glass through the Force. It wasn't cracked or anything, so I had to do some thinking to find its shatterpoints.

"Are you going to drink that, horn-head?" San was gazing greedily at my glass.

"Yeah…" I lifted the glass and took a swallow. It was the same thing as what Zefel had drunk (she was now, I noticed, on her second), so I didn't mind it too much.

I imagined the face of Master Senna, one of the female initiates' caretakers, if she saw me drinking… whatever alcoholic drink this was; I've never gotten the names straight. The image made me take another, bigger swallow and grin. I never liked Master Senna much.

Jiimo had finished his drink and looked pointedly at me with his hand out.

"I think we've had enough," I said.

"Don't listen to her," Masthu said. His friend had been called away to actually work, and he was a bit annoyed. "Her horns get in the way of her brains." He gave Jiimo a couple of credits.

He was probably right, but my lack of brains was manifesting itself in the opposite way than the one he was suggesting. I should have stopped him.

"Jiimo," Fang warned. He glanced at Dorn, who had somehow gotten a second glass – I didn't want to know how – and was chattering to one of the younger teenagers. I was a bit worried that he would give away that we were Jedi, but, at this point, I doubted that Dorn knew what a Jedi was.

Jiimo ignored Fang and took the money. Seeing me frown, Masthu assured me, "It takes a lot to get a Rodian drunk. Don't worry."

"An adult Rodian, maybe," I muttered.

"Hey, horn-head, want more?" asked San.

"No," I said firmly. I hadn't even finished what I had. "And my name is Akite Chairu, okay?" I hadn't wanted to complain about being called a horn-head, but he was starting to get on my nerves.

"What, are you scared, _horn-head_?" he asked, emphasizing the nickname.

_I will not get angry._

"Scared of what your parents will say?" he pressed. I barely stopped myself before telling him that I didn't have parents. That would have brought up uncomfortable questions. "Or are you just too much of a little kid?"

"I am _not_ a little kid." To prove it, I finished my drink and slammed down my glass. Immature, yes, and un-Jedi-like, but San was really annoying me.

"One drink doesn't make someone an adult," he said patronizingly. He poured some of his drink into my glass.

Almost reflexively, I took a sip and immediately spat it out, coughing. I glared across the table at San. His arm was around Zefel's shoulders now, and she looked almost happy about it.

I wasn't sure what happened, but I found myself holding a handful of glass shards, staring at the shattered glass and the red-brown liquid it had held as it spread across the table.

"What was _that_?" demanded Masthu.

One of the adult workers came over to us, looking angry. "It must have been cracked," Zefel said, pushing San away.

"It must have been cracked," repeated the worker mindlessly. I wondered vaguely if Zefel had used the Force.

My mind began to register the pain and finally my hand opened to let the pieces of glass fall. My palm was covered with blood. Zefel grabbed my wrist and pulled me towards the bathroom. We kept bumping into each other as we walked. When we got there (and it was the dirtiest bathroom I have ever seen), we ran cold water over my hand until it started to go numb.

We returned to the boys. San thrust a glass with some red liquid in it to me. "Here. Make it better." He actually looked concerned. With my mind numbed by pain, alcohol, and, maybe, my horns, I accepted and drank it. The fiery taste further numbed my senses.

Zefel convinced San that it was time to go somewhere else. Masthu went with us – apparently he was San's older brother – but Dirak stayed with his friends.

Fang and I had to drag Dorn away. He was being typically stupid and stubborn in addition to being half-drunk.

"It's dark down here," Fang commented. It wasn't as brightly lit as upper Coruscant is all night long, but I had a feeling that I had missed a double meaning in his words.

San called Zefel "blue-eyes," like he called me "horn-head." I think Zefel's nickname was the more complimentary of the two.

"She's only eleven, you know," Fang called out to him.

"Yeah, right," he snorted. "Well, I'm eight."

"It's true," I protested. "She won't be twelve until next month. Only a half year older than me, and younger than Fa – I mean, Aaffeng."

"Akite, will you _stop_ it?" Zefel demanded.

I couldn't believe it. In some perverse way I couldn't understand, she _liked_ San. I was glad we would never see him again after this night..

I heard glass shattering.

"Who did _that_?" Fang shouted.

Wait a minute.

Glass shattered?

Fang _shouted_?

I looked up in time to see the glass in a window beside the walkway sit, quivering, covered with cracks, before it fell to the walk under it.

My mouth dropped open. Broken glass was falling to the walkway on either side for as far as I could see (which, admittedly, wasn't too far – it _was_ dark). I was glad that the walk we were on wasn't crowded.

"What the –?" San asked, releasing Zefel.

"Who did that?" I demanded. I tried to turn and look at Jiimo and Dorn but almost fell over. "Did _you_ do that?"

Jiimo only stared at me with his mouth open. Dorn walked over to one of the windows.

"Dorn, don't," warned Fang. "There's broken glass everywhere." Naturally, Dorn ignored him.

A man came running out of the diner place, one of the buildings, I could now see, with broken windows. He was yelling something. He repeated it over and over. "Jedi! Only Jedi could do that!" His eyes were wild and wide, and he looked even more drunk than we were. Half the people who were on the walkway fled.

We stood, frozen. We had been warned before about what the people of the lower levels thought of the Jedi and anyone connected to the government. But surely, we could protect ourselves. He was only a paranoid, drunk man.

His eyes landed on San. "Shan," he snarled. "Shan an' Ma'thu. You from up there." Apparently, he meant the upper levels. "You, you friends, from up _there._ You _Jedi_."

"No, no," Masthu protested, and San laughed. "Us? _Jedi_?"

"Who done _that_?" He indicated the windows.

Another man jumped through the glassless window. "San ain't a Jedi. But them…" He looked straight at me. He wasn't drunk. He wasn't stupid, either.

He _was_, however, filled with hatred, and he saw us for what we were: young Jedi-in-training without a master to save us. I reached for my lightsaber before I remembered that I had hidden it so we wouldn't be recognized as Jedi. Masthu ran down the street. Almost no one was on the walkway now, and almost everyone who was still there was pulling out a blaster pistol. San was just staring at them with his arm around Zefel.

The man grinned as he informed us that they didn't like Jedi down here (as if we didn't already know) and aimed his blaster at Dorn, who was trying, to run back to us. By sheer luck, he fell as the blaster bolt went over his head.

_Trust Dorn to survive by pure luck – _Here's_ my lightsaber._

Within moments, Fang, Jiimo, and I had our lightsabers out, and by the time all the men had recovered from the shock of realizing that we really _were_ Jedi and not just kids they could accuse of being Jedi, and that even initiates carried lightsabers, the four of them were behind me, lightsabers out, four blue blades flanking one green one.

Most padawans use blue lightsabers, but green had felt right to me when I was making mine. Maybe San was right, and I was an adult in disguise. But I was doing a terrible job of _that_, I realized.

Because the moment I ignited my lightsaber, I realized how deeply we had gotten into trouble.

I couldn't touch the Force.

I had no idea why. An anomaly of the city's lower levels? A cruel trick by a greater being? Alcohol? Maybe I was dreaming or something.

I had never felt this before. And, as I tried to deflect the next blaster bolt, I realized how helpless I was without the Force. We had been trained to use it when we fought.

I couldn't use my lightsaber like this.

_Surely,_ I thought, _I am dreaming._ They were really serious now that they had Jedi to kill, probably a lifelong dream for some of them. We were going to be killed.

Fang knocked me backwards, and I actually saw his blue blade connect with a red blaster bolt that flew back to the one who had shot it. And then, in the blur of green, blue, and red energy, I saw violet fire.

We weren't going to be shot anymore. But we were still about to be murdered.


	3. Chapter 3

He let the men with blasters and San run away, but he stopped Dorn with a flick of his hand when he tried to follow

He let the men with blasters and San run away, but he stopped Dorn with a flick of his hand when he tried to follow.

Still on the ground from when Fang knocked me over, I did my best to organize my thoughts. "What are _you_ doing here?" I demanded. I instantly regretted my tone.

"Saving you, apparently."

"But why you, Master?" I asked more politely.

Master Windu looked down at me and shrugged. "I volunteered."

He grabbed Dorn's arm so that he couldn't try to run and led the five of us down the street.

"I would have thought," he said finally, "that _some_ of you were smarter than this." As he said "some," he looked down at Dorn and I realized that, even if he didn't spend much time with initiates, he still knew who we were, and knew how much Dorn got into trouble. "_Alone_, _down here_ on a _weekend night_? You're lucky you aren't dead."

Yes, we probably were.

He looked almost pleased when he saw an air taxi hovering just above the street. "You waited for me," he said to the pilot, a Rodian, as he herded us in. He handed the pilot a few credits. The pilot's eyes widened and he shook his head.

"You stayed after you realized I was a Jedi and was looking for trouble down here, and I am sure you know how dangerous these walks are, unlike _some_ people." He looked pointedly at us.

Master Windu boarded the air taxi. "Is that your blood, Chairu?" he asked. I guess he felt that we didn't deserve to be called by our first names, or maybe that was just how he talked.

I realized he was looking at my hand. I stared at it. Where had all that blood come from?

"Yes," Fang answered for me. "A glass broke when she was holding it."

Master Windu sat down between us, grabbed my wrist, and turned my hand over. There was even more blood on the palm than on the back.

"A lot of glass broke tonight," I realized.

"Lots of windows broke, that's how the people realized we were Jedi," I explained.

"That's how I found you," Master Windu said. "Dead giveaway. Sometimes, literally dead."

"Giveaway?" Jiimo asked.

"Of Jedi that have been drinking."

"I haven't drunk anything!" Dorn shouted. We all looked at him, even Master Windu.

"I think," said Fang, "that you just proved that you are very drunk."

Master Windu pulled some medicine out of a package on his belt – I swear Jedi can live for months off of what they carry on their belts – and started cleaning the blood off my hand.

_Wow, I thought I was past pain, but that _hurts! I thought. To be honest, I tried to push him away from my injured hand with my free hand, but he caught me in mid-movement and told me to sit on my uninjured hand _or else_.

"We really did break the windows?" asked Jiimo.

"To be specific, Chairu did."

"I did?" I asked vaguely.

"Unless one of your other friends happened to also have a gift that involves breaking things."

"But I _didn't_ break anything or even find –" but I realized that I had found the shatterpoints of my glass, if _that_ meant anything.

Master Windu sighed and looked at each of us in turn, except Dorn, who was in the corner with his eyes shut. "The teachers don't teach you anything, do they? Don't you know what happens to a Jedi who drinks alcohol?"

"They get drunk and stupid like Dorn," said Jiimo, who was apparently more "drunk and stupid" than he had seemed before.

Master Windu raised his eyebrows.

"You can't pilot if you drink a lot. Would we be allowed to pilot?" he added.

"_No_, you would_ not_," Master Windu said firmly. "I am not talking about if you drink a lot. I'm talking about drinking _anything_. You're not drunk by legal standards – well, maybe a little." He glanced at Dorn. "I'm not talking about what is enough alcohol to make normal people consider you drunk but what is enough alcohol to get a Jedi into trouble." He turned back to my hand. "You must have noticed – I hope you aren't too drunk to notice, but I think you did – that you can't touch the Force."

He gave us a moment to think about that as he told me that the reason my hand hurt so much is that there were still glass fragments in the wound, and he would leave the healers to fix that.

Master Windu wrapped my hand loosely with a bandage as he said, "Alcohol instantly starts dulling your senses, including your sense of the Force. The smaller you are, the faster it works, and the more powerful you are, the more you notice the difference and the more dangerous it is for you to be trying to do anything.

Why was he looking so pointedly at me?

"That's not the worst thing. Just because you can't feel the Force doesn't mean that you can't use it – you just don't know when you're using it. So if you happen to be fortunate enough to be able to see and use shatterpoints… things shatter." He was looking at me again. "So you get into big trouble and don't have anyone to save you unless it's New Year's Eve."

"What do you mean about New Year's?" asked Zefel, who had been silent so far.

Master Windu covered his face with his hand, and muttered something that sounded like, "How do I explain this?"

* * *

"So you mean that we wouldn't have gotten in so much trouble if we went out on New Year's Eve because everyone does it?" asked Jiimo.

"Well… I wouldn't have gotten so annoyed if you had chosen that night and stayed in the upper levels," Master Windu admitted.

"Because we would be where adult Jedi could find us?" I asked, still not believing. He had told us that lots of initiates had the idea to get out and have a good time before they were split up to different masters, but they usually did it on New Year's Eve when nearly all Jedi on Coruscant were on the walks and in the air trying to keep order over the city. He said it was an unwritten, unofficial rule that it was okay to do that. "But that's not fair," I protested. "We wouldn't have had to go home if we chose that night!"

"That depends on who catches you, Chairu. Some Jedi would send you home straight away, even take time away from their work to bring you there. Most would send you home if you were drunk or making trouble. Another unofficial rule is that if you _do_ need to be saved, you are in major trouble. And I count this as needing to be saved."

"I tried to protect them," Fang protested.

"I'm sure you did, Aaffeng. But a better way to protect them is to not allow them to drink at all."

_He tried to protect us? _I wondered. _But he was just as drunk – _

Suddenly, I laughed. I couldn't stop laughing. Why it struck me as funny I can't imagine now. But somehow it did.

I knew why Fang could try to protect us. I knew how he had managed to deflect a blaster bolt. I knew why he wasn't behaving irrationally. I knew why Master Windu didn't use as cold a tone with Fang as he did with us, and why Fang was the only one who got the honor of being addressed by his first name. I knew where Dorn's second glass had come from.

It was the one Jiimo had given Fang.

"Fang! You're not drunk!" I gasped when I finally stopped laughing.

Master Windu raised his eyebrows at me. "That shouldn't be much of a surprise, considering that the majority of the galaxy isn't drunk."

"Fang! You tricked us all!" That struck me as so funny.

Dorn opened one eye to glare at me. Then, both eyes opened wide. "Windu!"

"That's _Master_ Windu."

"We're alive!"

"Yes, I noticed."

"You didn't murder us."

"Yes, well, the rest of the Council might have been upset if I had."

"Are you saving us for Yoda to kill?"

Master Windu sighed. "Go back to sleep, Feno."

Finally, the air taxi landed outside of the Jedi Temple. Master Windu woke Dorn, who had taken his words literally and fallen asleep, and pushed us out of the door.

As we walked back into the Temple, he added, "It's almost better that you did choose tonight to go out instead of New Year's Eve, because if you had been down _there_ on New Year's, you would have been dead before any of us could get to you. It's really wild that night, and younglings like you can get into trouble. It's not easy for us, either… to be honest, the only reason I volunteered to go look for you was because Yoda promised me that I wouldn't have to work on New Year's Eve if I did."

I wondered how he knew so much about this. How, for instance, did he know how dangerous it is for younglings, when they would never be in danger if they were with him? And how did he know that things would break around a Jedi who had a gift with shatterpoints and had been drinking?

I only knew of one other person besides me who would have that problem.

"Get some sleep; we'll deal with you in the morning," he told us. He added in a sharp voice, as if he knew what I was thinking, "What are you grinning about, Chairu?"

"Nothing, Master."

* * *

The day after the next, Dorn was given as a padawan to a master known for being extremely strict. He didn't even get a choice in the matter. I think it was the Masters' punishment for him.

I think it was their way of accepting defeat. They couldn't control him any longer, and they needed someone else to try.

On New Year's Day, the masters finally allowed Master Sual to take Fang as his padawan. As a good-bye present, I gave him the money we had left over from that night: the money we had saved for the air taxi fare home and a little more that was left. We had been planning to split whatever was left evenly, but I didn't think the rest of us deserved it. I wasn't sure Fang did, either, since he had just let us do what we wanted, but I trusted him to use the money responsibly more than anyone else.

The other three of us were kept very busy for weeks. We were grounded – not that that mattered since we hardly ever got out anyway. The Council got the whole story out of us and Zefel had a few talks with some Jedi about her and San (who, we found out later, was named Esano Irian and was the son of a _senator_, of all things – almost as bad as being a Jedi) and the dangers of looking so much older than your age.

Good.

It took us a while to be chosen as padawans, but within a few months, it was clear that we were on the list of eligible initiates or whatever it is that lets masters know who they can choose. About three months into the year, a female Human master asked Zefel if she would be her padawan, and Zefel accepted. Jiimo was chosen only a week later, and I was left on my own.

I was a little young, of course, still eleven, but many eleven-year-olds became padawans and Yoda said I was ready, so it felt a little unfair to be waiting for months after my friends were chosen.

One day, I was practicing lightsaber combat with another padawan – we were dueling with low-power practice lightsabers. I didn't find it too hard to win, disarming him and forcing him to the ground. I helped him up, and on our way out, I noticed a young, blonde male Human whom I didn't recognize watching me. I heard him call, "Akite Chairu?"

"Yes, Master?"

"They said you were good. They were right," he told me.

That made me uncomfortable. I wasn't used to praise. "Thank you, Master," I managed to say.

"I – I was looking for a padawan, and it seems you need a master. I only just became a knight, but… I'm not too bad… would you?"

I grinned. "Master, what's your name, please?"

"Oreti Alo."

Maybe he wasn't the best choice, but he seemed so nice, and shy. "Master Alo," I said solemnly, "I would be honored to be your padawan."

He grinned and I grinned back.

* * *

As you may know, I survived the Battle of Geonosis, though my master, Oreti Alo, did not.

Neither did Dorn.

It was my master's death that nearly killed me, but more and more, I felt the pain of the loss of my friend.

Though he was insane, he was fun. Things were never boring with Dorn around.

I guess the galaxy needs people like him to make life interesting. Dorns are good to have around, provided they are balanced by people with common sense and courage to keep them in check. Provided they are watched over by powerful adults to protect them. Provided they never, ever, under any circumstance, reach places of power. Provided there aren't too many of them, we do need Dorns.

Because, as Zefel says, for all the fact that a bantha could come up with better ideas… Dorns are _fun_.

So here's to you, Dorn Feno.

_Author's note: if you read this whole thing, you can review! It certainly takes less time than what you've already done!_


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